by Zales, Dima
The cursor wakes up again and types:
If you’re trying to talk to me, you should know that this is a one-way communication system. I can’t even be sure you’re reading this, but you better be, because you’re in danger.
Someone from the Adult section is on their way to the Prison. That’s really bad.
I will try to unlock your door in a moment. I think I tapped into the building’s emergency-exit procedures. Once the door is unlocked, exit, make two rights, then a left. Then you’ll have to leave through the emergency exit. It will look like a regular door.
I stare at the ghostly Screen in stunned fascination. My daze is broken by the Screen disappearing in the same way it appeared.
Is Phoe serious? She wants me to escape Quietude?
No Youth has ever done this, and I’m sure every single one of them wished they could have.
My pulse racing, I walk up to the door. Unlike regular doors, it doesn’t open for me when I gesture at it. Testing out the ancients’ method, I push it with my hands.
I could just as easily have been pushing at a wall.
“What now?” I subvocalize by habit.
As though in reply, I hear a sharp noise that makes me jump back.
Then I understand.
It’s the door.
Something just happened to it.
I approach the door again and press on it.
Given Phoe’s message on the Screen, I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.
The door opens.
Warily, I stick my head out and look around.
The corridor is empty.
I walk out and try not to dwell on what the punishment for doing this will be.
“Two rights and a left,” I repeat in my mind as I tiptoe down the corridor.
When I get to the end of the corridor, I crouch and look around the corner—a trick I picked up from playing hide-and-seek with Liam and Mason during our childhood years.
My heart bobs up to my Adam’s apple.
There’s a Guard walking toward me.
He’s half a corridor away.
Is it my imagination, or is he walking faster all of a sudden? Did he see me?
It’s impossible to tell with him wearing that shiny visor.
I duck out of sight and swiftly make my way back to the room where I’m supposed to be, staying as quiet as I possibly can.
To my relief, the door closes behind me.
I put my ear to it, but I can’t hear any steps coming down the corridor.
This most likely means the door is soundproof, but it could also mean the Guard didn’t turn this way.
I count the way I did when I was little—one Theodore, two Theodores—until I reach twenty.
Gingerly, I exit the room again.
When I don’t see the Guard in the corridor, a grateful whoosh of air escapes my lungs.
I get back to the corridor on the right and repeat my earlier trick of crouching by the corner.
The Guard is gone.
I get up, turn the corner, and start walking. The corridor is long, and the gray walls blend together to obscure just how far it goes.
I walk for what feels like a couple of minutes, with no end in sight.
I pass a right turn, but ignore it since Phoe told me to make a left.
I walk some more and finally see the end of this monstrous corridor, but it’s a good twenty feet away.
“This stupid corridor must curve,” I think, unsure whether I’m talking to Phoe or myself.
She doesn’t reply and talking to myself has never really appealed to me—unless that is what I do when I talk to her, but I’ve moved beyond that theory.
“Theodore,” a voice says from behind me. “Stop.”
I think it’s coming from where the right turn was.
This voice is male, so I know it’s not Phoe. I assume it’s a Guard, but I don’t look back—that would be a waste of time.
My stealthy walking pace forgotten, I torpedo forward.
He runs after me. Through the beat of blood in my ears, I hear his pounding footsteps. A wall at the end of the corridor looms in front of me. I almost smack into it, but manage to turn left, my shoes sliding on the smooth gray floor.
“Theodore, stop! What are you doing?” The Guard sounds as if he’s about to turn my way.
I sprint down the smaller corridor, toward the door at the end. Skidding to a stop in front of it, I make a gesture for the door to open.
It remains shut.
8
Gasping for air, I gesture at the door again.
Nothing.
I concentrate and think at it, “Open.”
No effect.
The definitive sound of running footsteps is growing louder.
My palms cold and clammy, I push at the door with all my strength.
It doesn’t budge.
I chance a glance over my shoulder and see the Guard’s visor shining from just around the corner.
The door in front of me makes the same sound as the one in my Quietude room. Phoe must’ve opened it, I realize.
Nearly choking with relief, I push the door open and fly out of the building.
The door whooshes shut behind me.
To my left is waist-high grass, which, according to Phoe, was designed to encourage everyone to stay on the paved pathways. I leap into it and crouch, desperate for cover.
I know I’ll be found if the Guard thinks to look here, but I don’t see a better option.
“You’re fine,” a voice says from right next to me. “He’s about to run back into the building.”
My heart falls back into my ribcage. “Phoe?” My subvocalization is as close to a silent shout as it’s possible to get. “You can talk to me again? Where have you been? What’s happening?”
An ear-splitting wail fills the air. My head ringing, I realize it’s coming from the Witch Prison.
“Since you’re here, you clearly got my message,” Phoe says hurriedly, her voice somehow audible through the din. “Like I told you, I had a hard time communicating with you once you were in the Witch Prison.” She rattles off the words so quickly that I can barely make them out. “The Guard just headed back. I unlocked more doors. Some of the Youths took it as a chance to take a walk. Someone rang the alarm. I think they’ll be busy for the time being.”
“But—”
“Get up and run, Theo.”
I do as she says.
I didn’t think I could run faster than that sprint in the corridor, but I was wrong. I’m surely setting some kind of record; it’s too bad no one will give me credit for it.
Youths don’t pay attention to me as I fly by. They must think I’m just exercising. Everything around me is a blur. After the grayness of the Prison, my eyes have to adjust to all the different shades of green.
My lungs feel as if they’re about to explode, but I manage to gasp, “Can you explain?”
“You just spoke out loud,” Phoe chides.
“Yeah, right. Me talking out loud is the problem,” I think at her, unable to vocalize too much while out of breath. “I mean, if I keep this up, I might get into trouble.”
“If you sprint and talk, you’ll run out of breath quicker.” Phoe sounds as though she’s running alongside me.
I suck in a lungful of air and subvocalize, “What’s going on? What’s the plan? Why—”
“Theo, you need to do as I say.” Her voice gets those commanding overtones I usually associate with Instructors.
“Fine.” I need oxygen too much to argue with her even mentally. “Where am I going?”
“Follow the large paved path all the way down, then take the road that leads to the forest in the west.”
I can’t help but whisper, “But that might lead us to the Adult Border.”
“What, are you afraid you might get into trouble?” Phoe says, her voice a perfect parody of mine.
“There’s trouble, and then there’s going toward the Border,” I think more calmly. “It
just isn’t done.”
“If it helps, I won’t have you officially cross the Border,” Phoe says, though it sounds as if she left the word ‘yet’ unsaid. “I need you to go to the Zoo.”
I run in confused silence for a moment. The Zoo is indeed the closest structure we’re allowed to visit that’s near the Border.
“I can’t go there,” I think at Phoe. “I haven’t been at the Zoo for almost a year.” Despite saying that, I head in the direction of the pine trees that are in the far distance.
“Really?” Phoe responds. “I thought it would be your kind of place.”
“It is, but I can’t enter it. My access is denied. A long-term consequence from when Liam, Mason, and I put Owen’s hand in a cup of warm water in the middle of the night.”
“I would’ve thought that would’ve yielded a Quietude,” Phoe says.
“Owen is an asshole, but he’s not a snitch. And even if he were, he wouldn’t have told anyone that he wet his bed.” I mentally chuckle at the memory despite my growing exhaustion. “No. We got into trouble on our way back to our room. They took my access away because we were out after curfew the day after a Quietude session.”
“Well, with my help, you’ll be able to get into the Zoo,” Phoe says.
“How?” I catch the scent of the pines that I’m quickly approaching.
“When you got my frantic communiqué in the Prison, did you notice the part of my message that talked about my failed attempts at hacking into the Adults’ and the Elderly’s systems? When I mentioned that I couldn’t figure out what happened to Mason with the resources I currently possess?”
“Kind of,” I lie. “Vaguely.”
“What about the part about me not even having the resources to get you into that game that you agreed to stop?”
“Yes. Only I don’t recall you ever talking about me stopping anything.”
“If you beat the game, you stop the game, but that doesn’t matter since I can’t even get you in there.”
“Why?”
“I just said it a second ago.” She sounds annoyed. “I lack the computational resources to either figure out what happened to Mason or get you into that game. That’s where the Zoo comes in.”
“What resources?” Sweat drips down my back as I continue sprinting. “How can the Zoo help?”
“You’ll see,” she says. “It’s not far now.”
Perplexed, I follow the paved path into the pine forest.
Phoe is either busy or giving me space, so I don’t talk as I run to the meadow where the signature half-sphere of the Zoo is located.
Unlike most other buildings, the silver metal of the Zoo is exposed. It’s as if the pines scared away the ivy that covers everything else.
Slowing down to catch my breath, I walk up to the entrance at a more measured pace.
As I approach, I can’t help but recall my futile attempt to get in earlier this year. I tried sneaking in with a large group of Youths, but the doors wouldn’t open for anyone until I left.
This time, however, the door slides open for me with no problems.
“Don’t be so surprised,” Phoe says. “I told you I’d get you in.”
“After the stuff you pulled with the Witch Prison, your door-opening capabilities will never surprise me again,” I say as I enter the Zoo.
A few steps in, I find myself in the middle of a circular room, the place where one usually stands when the Zoo session is initiated.
As I wait, I amuse myself by looking up at the reflective spherical ceiling.
Nothing happens.
“You’re not going into the Zoo.” Phoe’s voice sounds as if it’s coming from a few feet away.
“I’m not?” I ask and wonder whether all the adrenaline from my run is intensifying my sense of disappointment.
“We’re short on time,” she says.
“I see.” My shoulders slump a little.
“Fine,” Phoe says. “If you really want, given what I’m about to ask you to do, I guess we can spare a couple of minutes. Brace yourself.”
And just like that, the half-sphere is gone, and I’m standing at the beginning of Zoo Road.
The ground under my feet moves, and I look around.
I almost forgot how magnificent this place is.
To my left is a prairie that stretches to the horizon. There, I note a herd of gazelles running away from a pride of lionesses. To my right, on an equally endless snowy tundra, I spot a penguin escaping a sea lion. Cute animals getting eaten is probably my least favorite part of the Zoo, but it’s also fascinating.
“Okay, you saw it. Can we resume our tasks?” Phoe says. “This place breaks all laws of virtual reality aesthetics. Combining Antarctica on one side and Africa on the other? Someone should’ve told the creator of the Zoo that alphabetization doesn’t mean congruency.”
“Just a little more,” I say as I pass through a couple more luscious environments and observe creatures ranging from komodo dragons to anteaters. “I want to do the petting portion and the safari.”
Suddenly, I’m back in the real world.
“I’m sorry, Theo,” Phoe says in an apologetic tone. “We really need to get this done.”
“What do you want me to do, exactly?” I try not to sound irritated, but it’s difficult. I was looking forward to petting a llama again.
“Just step on that,” she says.
I look about for something to ‘step on.’ There’s a light shimmering right in front of me that looks like a large Screen floating sideways. Then another one shows up right above it, then another. It’s like a staircase of sorts. I don’t recall ever seeing this before.
“That’s because I’ve put this place into admin mode,” Phoe says.
I eye the staircase warily. “Is that thing solid?”
“How else would you step on it?” Phoe sounds teasing.
“Each step looks like a Screen, so it’s a fair question.”
“It’s not an Augmented Reality construct like the Screen,” Phoe says. “These steps are made out of the utility fog. But you’re right. Whoever designed the admin mode didn’t bother to make them look more realistic.”
“Oh, great. Fog, the thing I associate with solidity,” I think sarcastically as I hesitantly raise my foot and place it on the first step. It feels real, so I put my weight on the step with my right foot and then let my left one join it. The strong feeling that I’m frozen mid-jump makes me uneasy about going higher.
“I forgot about your fear of heights,” Phoe says. “But it’ll be okay. The platform is just a few steps higher.”
I examine the shimmering stairs above the one I’m standing on. They indeed lead to a circular platform made out of the same material.
I take the next step, reminding myself that I’m less than two feet off the ground. Falling from here would be the equivalent of falling from a bed.
I take the next step.
“Now it’s as scary as standing on a chair,” Phoe suggests. “And the next one will be like standing on a table.”
I take the next two steps.
“Keep going.” As if to highlight how unreal she is, Phoe’s voice is coming from a location in the air that doesn’t have a stair.
I take the stairs one after another, but with each one, my stomach fills with ice. When I reach the tenth step, I can’t help but look down.
My insides immediately flip-flop.
“Just a little more,” Phoe urges. “You can’t fall. It’s physically impossible. The utility fog that makes up the steps is all around us. If you trip, it will catch you.”
Her words reassure me. I take another determined step, then another.
“Two more and you’re on the platform,” she says.
I inhale a deep breath and go up as quickly as I can.
Standing on the circular platform feels a modicum safer. I let out the breath I was holding. “Now what?”
“Make an exaggerated gesture of pulling down a cord, like ancient train conduct
ors did to toot the train’s horn.” Phoe sounds like she’s right next to me.
I do as she says, making a fist above my head and then bringing my elbow to my chest.
An unusual round Screen shows up in the air in front of me. On it, in a very large font, is written: ‘Please confirm the Shut Down.’ Under the text are two ginormous buttons that say: ‘Confirm’ and ‘Abort’.
“What does it mean by ‘shut down’?” I ask Phoe.
“Shut down the Zoo,” she responds matter-of-factly. “Now click the ‘Confirm’ button.”
“Wait a minute. Shut down the Zoo?”
“Yes.”
“Permanently?”
“Probably.”
“But it’s the Zoo.” I can’t help but say this out loud. “This would deprive everyone of so much…”
“I’m sorry for their loss, Theo, but I don’t have many other options. The virtual reality simulation that is the Zoo eats up a horde of resources—the computing power we desperately need. I can’t think of anything else we can shut down with so little risk to you and such a gain in resources, especially given our time constraints.”
“But—”
“Look, Theo,” Phoe says. “With this, I should be able to find out what happened to Mason before we deal with the game.”
“Can’t I just do the video game thing instead?”
“I also need resources for that, remember?” She sighs. “Once you’re done with this, I actually hope you can ‘do the video game thing’ regardless of whether I can puzzle out what happened to Mason.” She must sense that I’m about to protest because she adds, “Though I’m fairly sure I will find out what happened to him.”
I nod—unconvincingly.
“Please, Theo,” she says. “Getting rid of the video game is a way for us to learn that very important secret we were made to forget.”
She thinks I have a problem with playing the game, but I don’t. I have a problem with denying everyone access to the Zoo.
“It’s the only way to figure out what happened to Mason,” she says, clearly having read my mind again.
“Fine,” I say, growing weary of arguing. “I’ll do this for Mason.”
I reach out and touch the ‘Confirm’ button.
“Please say, ‘Shut Down,’” the Screen display instructs. “And think, ‘Shut Down.’”
